


Candle In The Dark

by LostMyWayTwice



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bookshop owner Bilbo, Dark, Depression, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gen, Healing, Homophobia, Homosexuality, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Lawyers, M/M, Physical Abuse, Slow Burn, Support Groups, Thorin is a Softie, Thorin-centric, Uncle Bilbo, unicorn shirts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:16:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3811903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostMyWayTwice/pseuds/LostMyWayTwice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After months of abuse, Thorin finally escapes his partner’s violence. </p><p>Alone now, Thorin doesn’t know what to do with himself. Dis suggests/blackmails him into going to a support group. Thorin’s sure he’ll hate it. That is, until he meets someone new. Then he’s not so sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Acid Rain

**Candle in the Dark**

  

I

_"His moods would change abruptly.  He fluctuated between being caring and loving to cruel and abusive."_

**Adam, a domestic violence victim.**

 

The first time Thorin Durin's boyfriend hit him was on a Monday morning. 10th of March, eight thirty AM.

2014.

He only remembered bits and pieces of the previous weekend, it had been dull, grey, and raining constantly. He’d been stuck inside, with nothing else to do but look mournfully out the window; hoping for a reprieve.

There was only the four walls, the sound of the raindrops on the glass and...  _him_ for company.

Thorin wanted so badly to be alone.

A few minutes of precious peace, when Azog drugged or drank himself into sleep, or went out. 

Those moments were glorious, and few and far between. 

He's not sure when his boyfriends company became so hateful. But by the time he'd awoken to see what was occurring, it was too late. 

The Sunday night sex was as painful as usual, but if Thorin kept still and let Azog do what he wanted then it was almost bearable.

Sometimes Thorin wondered why he was there at all.

His boyfriend ignored every ‘no’ every ‘stop that hurts’ and every ‘I don’t want to tonight’.

It had been fun once, when Azog had pushed him down; hungry eyed and panting.

But now whenever his boyfriend touched him, he felt nauseous.

They weren't making love. 

Love didn't come into it. 

They never used condoms. Azog didn’t like them.

It was worse when they were high, Thorin had never used drugs before; Azog said it would make the sex better.

It didn’t.

It just made Thorin too out of it to care, or feel anything.

At least, not until he woke the next morning with his ears ringing, his eyes burning, and a sudden need to empty the contents of his guts.

Sometimes he spoiled their sheets when he didn't make it to the bathroom in time. 

Other times, he just didn't sleep. 

 

The coffee machine hummed in the background as Thorin tried to make something that was an approximation of breakfast. He had little appetite these days.

He’d lost a two stone in two months.

So he’d bought baggy clothes and hoped no one noticed.

If they did ask, Thorin knew what he’d say. “I’m sick.”

Which wasn’t really a lie.

Something was sick, something was rotten in the heart of it all. 

Thorin nibbled his burnt toast with little interest and sipped his coffee from his oddly painted mug, covered in childish scrawls of what were meant to be dragons. A birthday gift from his nephews.

With fondness, he stroked the rim of the cup with his finger recalling smiling faces and laughter he'd once shared in. 

Azog has thrown it against a wall once, but it hadn’t smashed. That was the day Thorin had tried to visit his sister without asking Azog first.

Before his boyfriend, Dis used to say that Thorin had the worst temper in Britain.

Now? Not so much.

Thorin couldn’t remember the last time he got angry at something. He was too tired. 

He hadn’t been happy for a while either. Happiness escaped him. It seemed far away, untouchable, unattainable. 

He was existing. Nothing more. 

Which was his own fault, he just needed to carry on and stop moping.

There were people worse off than him, after all.

 

He fiddled with his cuffs and straightened his tie before putting on his body armour and searching for the keys to his bike.

Azog would hide them sometimes.

After a bit of searching he eventually found them in the pocket of his old leather jacket. His favourite, his best friend Dwalin had a matching one.

He hadn’t spoken to Dwalin in... a long time. He didn’t like Azog, and Azog didn’t like him.

But to be fair, Azog didn’t like anybody.

 _I’m almost out the door._ Thorin’s heart began to pulsate with excitement as he walked the few steps from the kitchen to the front door. _Nearly there._

He reached for the brass knob, hoping maybe today would be a good day for a change.

“Where do you think your goin’?”

 

Thorin’s spine tingled with dread.

Azog could be very quiet when he wanted to be, he could always catch Thorin by surprise. So Thorin learned to be vigilant. 

He wasn’t usually awake this early. Something was wrong.

 

“To work.” Thorin explained without turning around.

 

“Without sayin’ goodbye?”

 

 _He’s just trying to keep me here._ Thorin gripped his helmet tightly under his arm. “I didn’t want to wake you.” 

 

Azog snorted, then paused, waiting for Thorin to say something.

 

“Sorry.” Thorin whispered, just loud enough for his boyfriend to hear.

 

He said sorry a lot. There was a lot to be sorry for.

 

Azog shuffled on the stairs. “C’mere, Pet.”

 _I hate it when he calls me that._ Thorin let his arm drop and in a daze he turned around. _Condescending bastard._

 

Azog licked his stained teeth like a cat wetting its fangs before Thorin leaned in kiss him on the side of his mouth.

He stank of beer, cigarettes and sweat. His arms were dotted with red marks made with the prick of a needle.

 

“Bye.” Thorin mumbled trying not to breathe in Azog’s scent, before adding. “I’ll be late.”

 

Azog froze, then narrowed his eyes before asking with a hiss “What did you say?”

 

Thorin opened his mouth just before Azog’s palm connected with his face.

A sharp sound rang through the air and it muffled any noises of pain Thorin might have made. His neck twisted to the side with the force of the blow.

Everything became blurred, Thorin swayed on his feet, his brain unable to process what had just happened.

Azog had never hit him before. He’d threatened, but never actually done it.

Thorin must have made him very angry. He didn’t mean to.

He never meant to make his boyfriend angry at him.

"I didn't mean to make him mad" Says the child bitten by the rapid dog. 

In the haze, he could make out Azog barking at him, something along the lines of “You fucking come home when I tell you to!” and “You're lucky I don’t leave you! Nobody else would put up with your shit!”

More of the same.

 every order, every jibe, every criticism all sounded the same after a while. 

Thorin’s mind was elsewhere, but his body moved of its own accord.

He opened the door, shut it, and managed to stumble to his bike in the driveway and swing his leg over to sit on it.

Work. 

He was going to work. 

He fumbled with his jacket to find the keys. 

Then he realised he’d didn’t have his helmet.

He looked around for a minute before realising it was inside the house.

 _Stupid, stupid, how could I have left it?_ He began to shake. _I can’t go back now._

For the first time in years, Thorin started to cry.

His face hurt, his head hurt. He didn’t know what to do.

He sat there for a long time, sobbing, choking. Tears dripped down his face and soaked his beard. 

In a moment of passing desperation, he got out his phone and dialled the only number could think of.

His sister. His only family. 

Kili and Fili would have left for school by now, she would be leaving soon too.

He put his mobile to his ear and it rang, and rang and rang.

 _Please, please, please._ Thorin bit down on his finger so hard it left angry red marks on his skin.

 

“Hello?”

 

Thorn let out a breath. “Dis?”

 

Stunned silence. “Thorin?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh my god- hold on, let me just-”

 

He heard bags being dropped and a car door slamming.

 

“Thorin? Are you still there?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“God… are you- does Azog know you’re calling me?”

 

“He’s in the house.”

 

“Okay. Okay. God… I was so worried about you, it’s been weeks! I thought something had… wait, are you crying?”

 

Thorin swallowed.

 

“I… Dis, I don’t-“

 

“You are aren't you? has he done something?  Did he hurt you?”

 

“I… I don’t know what to do.”

 

A beat. “Thorin, did he hurt you?”

 

Thorin shakily nodded. “Yes.”

 

“Right.” She sounded like steel. “I’m coming to get you. Are you at the house?”

 

Thorin felt shame claw at him. “Dis, I don’t need-”

 

“No. Listen, you’ve looked after me before, now let me look after you.”

 

“You’re my little sister.” Thorin muttered weakly.

 

 “And you’re my big brother. I’m coming right now. Don’t move okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I love you, alright?”

 

Thorin laughed, he didn’t know why. “I love you too.”

 

Dis she was fighting the tears herself on the end of the line. “I know. I’ll be there soon. Goodbye.”

 

After she’d hung up, Thorin sat mutely on his bike, doing as he was told until Dis came to fetch him.

 

He slowly looked up at the windows. The curtains were drawn, the lights out, all was quiet. 

 

No one could imagine what went on inside.


	2. Sinkhole

II.  

_“I tried leaving three times before but I always was terrified of being alone.”_

**Katherine, a domestic violence victim.**

Most days, Thorin’s nephews were more punctual than his alarm.

 

“Uncle! Uncle!”

 

Thorin could feel the weight of the eight year old climb awkwardly onto his back, the warmth of the boy seeped through Thorin’s shirt and had an oddly calming effect.

He could have easily dozed off again, if not for Kili, his youngest nephews, persistence in his mission.

“Unnnnncle!” he whined, tugging at Thorin’s ear.

 

“What?” Thorin asked, muffled by his pillow, attempting to swat away his nephew like a fly.

 

It was much too early for this, surely.

 

“Mum says get up right now.” Answered Kili. “Breakfast was ages ago.”

 

The thought of breakfast made Thorin curl inwards. He still wasn’t eating right, and in any case, the medication made his food taste strange.

Not that Thorin cared. Everything had felt strange since he’d left... no, fled. 

He'd fled from Azog. 

His old life, completely uprooted himself and escaped before, in his nightmares the possible end; them finding him on the kitchen floor with blood pouring out of his head.  He groaned.

 

 

“What time is it even?”

 

Dis had always like to rise early, and as a single parent of two boys and with no husband, she had little choice in the matter.

Thorin however, was not in this habit. 

 

“It says twelve on the clock.”

 

“What?” Thorin sat up quickly which sent Kili rolling onto his side with a surprised giggle.

Thorin grasped blindly for his phone and winced as the light of the screen hurt his eyes.

12:01 AM.

It wasn't morning any more, it was afternoon.  _Again?_ Thorin blinked slowly at the digital numbers. _This can’t go on. This isn’t normal._

He used to sleep too little, now he slept too much. _I can’t win these days._

In his musings, he’d quite forgotten Kili, who was bouncing on the bed impatiently.

 

Thorin rubbed the back of his neck. “Where’s your mother?”

 

“On the phone.” Kili said between bounces.

 

“Go and find her and tell her I’ll be done in a minute.”

 

His nephew frog hopped from the bed and bounded from the room in search of Dis. “Muuuuum!”

 

“Stop yelling Kee!” rang the voice of his older brother.

 

“I’m not yelling Fee!”

 

Thorin envied the boys energy.

It was nice to have his nephews around, and, while a little shy at first, they'd grown accustomed to Thorin being at home with them.

Their mother, as a lecturer on Classical Studies (Specializing on the histories on ancient Greek and Rome) her hours weren't too intensive, and she earned enough for them to live on, life was still far from a breeze. 

It was a great help to her to have another adult in the house.

Though whether Thorin in his state actually qualified as a responsible adult was an interesting question. 

The boys didn’t really understand _why_ he was there. Or why he sat around the house all day. Or why he cried when he thought no one could see him.

Children shouldn't be burdened with a grown man’s problems, so Thorin was glad when they didn't pester him for answers.

Which was odd considering how curious they usually were. He suspected that might Dis’ work.

Taking his time, Thorin pulled the covers from himself and stretched before getting up and peeping through the blinds.

A street with some cars, a person walking their dog, streetlamps, paving stones.

It was all still here. Thorin let himself breathe.

He fell back onto the bed, staring upwards at the ceiling. Another day.

Since moving into his sister’s modest flat, he’d subsequently claimed the guest room as his own safe hovel from the world, and for the first three days he shut himself away; despite his sisters knocking and Dwalin’s worried texts and calls.

Thorin ignored them all. He wanted nothing, needed nothing, other than to be alone.

He almost called Azog. Twice.

Thorin just wanted to hear his voice, his nice voice. The voice he used when they first met. _I miss him._

Did that make him crazy? Does the cart horse miss the farmer that beats it? 

On his bedside table his phone buzzed. A text. Thorin tapped the screen idly to bring up the message.

 

_HEY PRINCESS_

_YU TAKEN YUR PILLS YET?_

_D._

 

Dwalin.

His friend had never quite grasped the technology that was modern smart phones.

That and also he had rather pudgy fingers. His texts were always in capitals.

Thorin half smiled, and he quickly replied:

 

_Just got up._

_Gonna take them now._

_T._

 

Thorin pressed send, then put his phone back in its place before shuffling along to the guest bathroom.

After taking a piss and brushing his teeth, he opened the cabinet above the sink (safely out of the boys reach) and picked out the purple box that contained his ability to function.

He stroked the silver packet with his thumb for a second, feeling lost, before taking Tuesday’s dose.

The drugs Azog took made everything fuzzy, these made everything clear. Too clear.

 He wasn't sure if that was listed on the box underside effects, but it probably should be. 

Thorin waited, for two minutes, five minutes, just staring at his reflection; pale skin, dark circles, a beard, and eyes that were the same colour as his but didn’t look alive.

This person in the mirror a copy, a cheap imitation of the real thing. It lacked something. 

He wanted to feel a change. 

 

“Thorin?” Dis was calling him. “Could you come down please?”

 

Sighing, he put his pills away and descended the stairs.

One foot in front of the other. 

Dis was in the kitchen, sitting at the table, her mouth tight and pained. As soon as Thorin walked in, he could sense there was trouble.

 

“What’s the matter?”

 

Dis crossed her arms. “That was the police. Azog’s been arrested.”  

 

The beating of Thorin’s heart increased tenfold at the mention of his boyfriend’s name, his sister’s words were far away, like someone shouting across a lake or at the other end of a tunnel.

He must have sat down, or Dis pushed him into a chair, either way he was sitting at the table and he didn’t know how he got there. He couldn’t think.

 

“…Okay.”

 

“Okay? Is that it?” Dis pressed.

 

Thorin didn’t elaborate.

 

She continued. “Apparently he glassed someone your local… what’s it called?”

 

“The Green Dragon.” Thorin liked that Pub, Azog had taken him there a couple of times.

 

They’d get shit faced, stumble home, have sex, and then pass out. One night Azog was too impatient, and had taken Thorin in the Gent’s toilets instead.

It had hurt.

 

“The guy was knocked unconscious, and could have lost his eye, and now his family are pressing for Azog to be charged with assault. And that’s not all…” Dis looked over at her brother. “He left the pub wasted and managed to drive two miles before crashing into someone’s front garden, that’s when the police got there are arrested him before he could do any more damage. Oh… and he was high on coke.”

Thorin can see him as clear as day, swearing, intoxicated, drugged up to the eyeballs, being dragged away by and shoved into the back of a police car.

He probably would’ve doled out his fair share of black eyes and bloody noses before the sun rouse on his holding cell. Thorin lived with this man for two years.

He thinks. _How did I escape unharmed? I could have been in that car with him._

 

“He wasn’t hurt, and he didn’t run anyone over, thank god…Thorin?”

 

 He sits just there. 

 

“They’ll… they’ll probably want to question you, and, you might have to testify in court.”

 

And that’s all Thorin can take. He rises briskly and leaves the room like a hurricane, Dis calls after him but he doesn’t stop, he passes Fili on the way back to his room.

 

“Uncle Thorin?"

 

He slams the door, locks it, before covering a sob with his hand. The walls are closing in. Choking him.

He slides down to the floor, rocking himself.

Time passes. His phone buzzes on the table.

Thorin blinks, ignoring it at first. It buzzes again.

He scrubs his face with his fist and grabs the irritating thing, intending to turn it off or smash it. But he sees two messages. From Dwalin:

 

_DIS TOLD ME ABOUT AZOG._

 

Thorin’s rage and despair melts away leaving him numb, and exhausted. He wants to go back to bed.

 

_ARE U OKAY?_

_D._

 

Thorin types back:

 

_I was._

 

He goes to the bathroom, finds his pills, and takes Wednesday’s dose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case your wondering, the pills Thorin are taking are called fluoxetine, a drug used to treat depression or obsessive-compulsive disorder in adults.


	3. Blizzard

 

III. 

_“The abusive man’s high entitlement leads him to have unfair and unreasonable expectations, so that the relationship revolves around his demands. His attitude is: “You owe me.”_

**_Lundy Bancroft, Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men_ **

 

"I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

 

The cover of the bible was cool to the touch, and Thorin tried his best to keep his hand steady during his oath.

Once the holy book was removed he tugged at the collar of his shirt.

It was sweltering in the court room. 

Hotter than hell. 

From the box, Thorin could see Azog sitting just few feet away.

The closest Thorin ever wanted to be. 

 Still, it was too close. 

Azog was also dressed smartly, but his bulk made the fabric stretch painfully and his multiple tattoos and piercings clashed with his attire.

The colour of his tie was awful.

 _That suit could be mine._ Thorin wasn’t sure, he’d left the house with only the clothes on his back and Dis had bought him new things.

He’d been too afraid to return and collect what was his.

Azog looked very calm, cold, considering the heat. 

Like stone.

Thorin wanted to shrink back, to turn away, but instead he forced his back to straighten and looked everywhere but his boyfriend.

 _Ex_ -boyfriend.

He could see his sister; sitting with her arms folded, her chin raised boldly.

Thorin caught her eye and she gave him a look that said more than words ever could.

 

 _Where would I be without her?_ He inclined to her with a nod of his head. _Thank you._

 

The district judge sat in stoic silence.

Adark haired gentleman, and a veteran of the court, a certain Elrond Imladris, sat in the centre and spoke with clear, authoritative dignity.

 

“The prosecution may proceed.” Said Elrond.

 

And it began. 

This was the man they needed to persuade. This was the man who could put Azog in jail or set him free.

Thorin’s future happiness rested on him. 

 

“Thank you, my Lord“  

 

From his seat, arouse the man for the prosecution.

He was old enough to be retired, but Mr Gray appeared to poses great intelligence, integrity, and knew his law better than most lawyers half his age.

Still, Thorin felt apprehensive about trusting a man who was nicknamed “The Wizard”.

 

“Dr Durin.” Mr Grey addressed Thorin directly, there was a softness to his voice that could have been sympathy.

 

“I understand that this must be very difficult for you, but you doing the right thing by giving evidence here today.”

 

Thorin nodded. “Thank you.”

 

Azog’s defence attorney cleared his throat, a little weasel of man with greasy black hair.

Mr Gray ignored him.

 

“I understand you were in a relationship with the defendant for… three years I believe?”

 

“Yes. We lived together for two.”

 

“Goodness, that’s quite a long time."

 

“I suppose.” Thorin mumbled.

 

“Please speak up, Mr Durin.” Elrond asked, his voice echoed around the room.

 

“Um, I suppose.” Thorin repeated, louder.

 

Mr Grey went on. “During that time, was the defendant ever violent? Towards you or others?”

 

“…He did get in a lot of fights, especially when he was high or drunk.”

 

“Was that often?”

 

“He drank almost every day.”

 

Mr Grey eyed him. “And the drugs?”

 

Thorin licked his lips. “A couple a times a week we would get high.”

 

“So you freely admit that you also took drugs?”

 

“My Lord, what is the relevance of this?” The defence asked, spittle flying from his mouth.

 

Mr Gray smiled, looking over his at his colleague. “I’m simply helping the court to establish whether or not this… _incident_ was out of character for the defendant.”

 

Elrond waved off the defence. “I’ll allow it. Answer the question Mr Durin.”

 

Thorin felt a blush creep up the back of his neck. “I’d never taken anything before I met Azog, he was already on coke and weed… he convinced me to try it.”

He'd been weak.

 

The old lawyer looked over his notes. “I have reason to believe that your ex-partner was abusive.”

 

 _Own the truth. You’ve got nothing to hide._ “Yes.”

 

“In what way?”

 

Thorin kept his voice as level as possible, and sent the images of Azog… doing things to him to the back of his mind.

 

He looked over to his boyfriend, who appeared nonchalant about the whole affair.

Bored even.

 

“Emotionally and sexually.”

 

Mr Grey nodded. “Can you go into detail?”

 

“Objection.” Called the defence, with distaste. “My client is not being charged with domestic violence. This is an _assault_ and _drunk driving_ trial.”

 

Elrond narrowed his eyes and stared down the weasel, easily overpowering him. “I am fully aware of the nature of these proceedings Mr Lickspittle, and your client is fortunate that Mr Durin is not pressing charges, as is his right, otherwise this _would_ indeed be a domestic violence trail.”

 

That seemed to shut the man up for now.

 

Elrond glanced over to Thorin. “Please continue, Mr Durin.”

 

Thorin closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. _I need to be strong. My sister is watching._

 

“He… would force me to sleep with him, even when I said no. He refused to use condoms. I wasn’t allowed to go out unless he was with me, I couldn’t call my family, or my friends. Not without him getting angry.”

 

“What did you do when he was angry?”

 

“He would swear, shout, and throw things.”

 

“Sounds familiar.” Mr Grey quipped.

 

From his seat, Azog radiated hated.

Dis' mouth quirked. 

But Elrond wasn’t amused. “That’s enough, Mr Grey. Do you have any further questions for this witness?”

 

My Grey clicked his tongue. “No, thank you, my lord.”

 

Without missing so much as half a beat, Azog’s lawyer, Mr Lickspittle was up from his seat and giving Thorin a milk-curdling grin.

 

“So, Mr _Durin-_ “

 

Thorin tightened his jaw. _This will be unpleasant._

Azog leaned forward, smirking, suddenly engaged.

 

“You claim that you and my client ‘got high’ together, on several occasions.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Did my client ever _force_ you to smoke cannabis? Or inject yourself with cocaine?”

 

Thorin shook his head. “No… he didn’t _force_ me. I did it because he was doing it and…I loved him, at the time.”

 

“How touching.” Mr Lickspittle was just getting started. “Are you an addict, Mr Durin?”

 

The question was a startling change of pace, it caught Thorin off gaurd. “I... No.”

 

“Do you often break the law?”

 

“ _No_.”

 

“But you take drugs.”

 

It was Mr Grey’s turn to protest. “My Lord, the defence isn’t so much as asking questions as he is accusing the witness.”

 

“I agree, please amend your tone, Mr Lickspittle.” Elrond said. “But you may answer the question Mr Durin.”

 

Thorin clenched his teeth. _Don’t get angry._ “Not anymore.”

 

Lickspittle whistled through his yellow teeth. “That’s not strictly true is it?” The weasel produced a piece of paper and studied it.

 

“After you and my client broke up, you were prescribed anti-depressants by your doctor, fluoxetine? Is that right, Mr Durin?”

 

Thorin felt his chest constrict, he gripped the sides of the witness box in an attempt to stay collected.

 _That utter conniving cock._ In that moment he imaged knocking the teeth out of Lickspittle’s smug face.

He looked over to Dis, who pleaded at him silently to carry on. Even Mr Grey looked a little alarmed by the question.

 

“That is true.” Thorin said carefully. “I’m depressed.”

 

“Where you depressed before you left my client?

 

“Yes. I think so.” _Where is he going with this?_

 

“So… you had feelings of despair? Unhappiness?”

 

Thorin’s suspicion peeked. “Yes.”

 

Would you say then, that you were… _emotionally unstable_ at the time this alleged abuse took place?”

 

“ _No._ and it happened. _All_ of it.” Thorin growled.

 

“How can you be sure? After all, you admitted to being high on drugs most of the time.”

 

“My lord!” Grey interjected, but Elrond was quicker.

 

“Mr Lickspittle, I will _not_ warn you again. Either ask this witness a question or allow me to dismiss him.”

 

Lickspittle tried to look apologetic.

It was fake.

 

“Pardon me, my lord, I'm simply trying to ascertain the _character_ of this witness and his credibility.”

 

Thorin thanked the stars for Elrond, he didn’t know how much more of this he could stand.

 

But Lickspittle wasn't finished yet. “Did you ever _see_ my client attack anyone?”

 

“Verbally, yes.”

 

“But not physically?”

 

Thorin drew in a shallow breath. “He’d come home with bruises.”

 

Lickspittle smirked toothily, like the rodent he was. “But you never _saw_ him hit anyone.”

 

Thorin couldn’t swallow the lump in his throat, sweat drops dripped down his face and he felt his courage slipping away.

His mind raced with terrible thoughts. _He’s not going to jail._

_I’ll never be free of him._

If he didn't do something, stand up for himself, nobody would.

 

“…Yes… he did hit someone.”

 

Lickspittle was not expecting that answer, and the whole court seemed to suddenly go very quiet. The weasel looked unsure for a second then it morphed into indignant irritation.

 

“Who? _Who_ did my client hit?”

 

Thorin lifted his head and met Lickspittle in the eye. “Me. He hit _me_.

 

\---

 

Thorin wasn't the last witness to be called, one by one, a trickle of people were called and cross examined and the ugly picture of that night became more and more terrifying.

The young man Azog had glassed, barely thirty with red hair, testified with a patchwork of stitches and bandages. His left eye swollen and purple.

Thorin felt physically ill watching it all. 

That could have been him. 

 

The trail seemed to stretch on for an obscene amount of time. 

For Thorin, it was a long painful blur, like coming around after an accident.

He remained in a world of his own until it was time to return to the court room for the sentencing.

Thorin took Dis’ hand as they took their seats once more.

The court’s rushed looking clerk handed Elrond something over the desk.

 

“Thank you Lindir. I have reviewed the evidence and reached a verdict…I conclude that the defendant, Azog Gundabad-“

 

Thorin was shaking in his seat, he squeezed his sister’s hand so tightly that he was amazed she didn't pull her hand from his. 

He begged. He begged whoever might be listening.

_Please. Please. Please._

 

“-Is guilty of all charges. Namely one account of Assault with ABH, Drunk and Disorderly behaviour in a public place, and Dangerous Driving.”

 

Elrond regarded Azog icily, and Azog sneered.

 

“Azog Gundabad, I hereby sentence you to 12 months imprisonment, which is the maximum sentence this court can give*”

 

He leaned forward and added with a note of contempt. “And I do _not_ recommend probation.”

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

* PLEASE READ THE AUTHORS NOTES 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is long! 
> 
> Just a quick note to say that I'm not a lawyer or a judge or anything like that, so apologies for inaccuracies ^^
> 
> For those of you unfamiliar with the British justice system, Azog's trial took place at a magistrates court, which handles lesser offences and there is also no jury. The maximum sentence that a Magistrates court can give is 12 months or a £5,000 fine. 
> 
> Crimes like rape, murder etc are handled by the Crown court, which does have a jury and can hand down much harsher sentences.


	4. Sandstorm

IV.

_“His hands struck her any hour of the day, like hands that strike a clock, whether early, whether late; they strike, they strike.”_

**_Anthony Liccione_ **

 

Thorin had expected a sense of relief.

A feeling of his burden being lifted from him and with it a new hopeful outlook on his life now that he was free from his controlling, violent thug of a boyfriend.

Instead, the trail ended with what felt like a puzzling anti-climax.

There was only one question. "What now?"

Everything had been settled, and justice had been served.

They could not had hoped for a better outcome.

Then why did Thorin feel empty?

Adrift without a tether?

What was his purpose now?

Dis was thanking Mr Grey for his part, but the old lawyer humbly insisted that another in his place would have done just a

well, only a fool would have not sent Azog to prison. His guilt was as audacious as his tattoos.

And Lickspittle's slimy, underhand tactics only helped prove that. 

From which dark, dank hole Azog had found his lawyer Thorin didn't know. 

Despite the victory, he was divided, he still seething about being humiliated by Azog’s defence attorney and wondered if his contribution made any difference at all.

If Azog was as guilty as all that (and he was) was there a need for Thorin to testify? Could he had been spared that ordeal and not have his personal life laid out and dissected?

 _Never again. I wash my hands of this._ He shifted from one foot to another, more than ready to leave.

 _Dis can talk forever._ He grumbled and checked his watch. _Kili and Fili will be out of school soon._

 

“Hey.”

 

The voice was unfamiliar, and when Thorin looked up he almost fell sideways.

The man Azog had hit with a pint glass.

His injuries looked even worse up close.

Thorin could see the congealed blood around the stitches and the greenish hue to the edge of the bruises.

His mouth went dry.

He couldn’t fathom what this man possibly want with him; he didn’t look in any sort of state to be starting a fight.

But still.

Thorin’s scared deer look compelled the red hair youth to speak first.

 

He held up his hands. “I’m not lookin’ for trouble. Honest. I just wanted to talk to you.”

 

He had a cocky, toothy smile which along with his hair made him look fox-like.

Thorin was unsure of his intentions.

 

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly, crossing his arms.

 

“I came over to say thanks.”

 

Thorin was confused. “What for?”

 

“For testifying today. It sounds like that shit made your life hell and you could have easily just stayed away. But you didn’t. So, thanks.”

 

He out his hand for Thorin to shake.

Thorin stared at the appendage. _Is he serious? That’s the second time I’ve been thanked today. I don’t like it._

After a moment or two’s hesitation, he slowly reached out and clasped that hand that had been offered and shook it, firmly.

Nothing bad happened.

 

“I’m Nori, by the way.”

 

“Thorin.”

 

“I know.”

 

 _Defiantly_ a cocky one.

Thorin released Nori’s hand, a tingle had begun in his fingers and was spreading up his arm.

Noti reached into his shirt jacket and pulled out a card. “Here, this might be useful. I promised my little brother I’d hand these out.” He skilfully deposited it into Thorin’s pocket before he could protest, winked and turned on his heal.

He sauntered off in the direction of his awaiting family.

Thorin stood there dumbly. _That was… odd._

He fumbled with his pockets until he retrieved the token that this ‘Nori’ had left him.

He didn’t know what to expect. 

On the little card, the words were coloured black in and printed in a bold, serious font:

 

_HAVE YOU BEEN HURT BY A PARTNER OR FAMILY MEMBER?_

OUR GROUP OFFERS SUPPORT FOR VICTIMS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE.

VERY DISCREET AND FREE OF JUDGEMENT.

MEETINGS EVERY FRIDAY 6.00 PM AT RIVENDELL COMMUNITY CENTRE

MEN AND WOMEN ARE WELCOME.

FOR MORE INFOMATION CALL:

GALADRIEL 0208 675 441

 

Thorin read it once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then folded it in his hand before stuffing it back into the pocket from whence it came, deliberately forgetting about it and the entire conversation he’d just had.

The last thing he needed was a strangers interference. 

Dis and Mr Gray finally seemed to be done chatting, and to emphasize that it was time to go Thorin coughed lightly and squeezed his sister’s shoulder.

She pretended he wasn’t there.

 

“Well, Gandalf, I mustn’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you’re eager to go about your day.”

 

“Oh no, always a pleasure Mrs Longbeard, and if you ever need any advice…” He eye-balled Thorin over Dis’ head. “Legal or otherwise, than do not hesitate to call me.”

 

He excused himself politely and took out his phone to make a call as he strode away. “Ah, my dear fellow, how you feel if an old friend dropped by for a visit?”

 

Thorin watched him go. _Thank you._

 

Dis patted Thorin’s cheek. “You’re daydreaming again.”

 

Thorin shrugged her off. “Let’s go.”

 

They made their way out of the court house, hoping to see the back of it forever, before reaching the car.

Thorin got into the passenger seat.

Dis always preferred to drive.

And Thorin was prone to road rage. Or so she said.

They sat in comfortable silence for the first few minutes of the journey; Thorin gazed lazily out of the window at nothing in particular.

 

Dis turned a corner.  “Are you alright?”

 

Thorin licked his lips. “Fine.”

 

“Just fine?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Not… happy? Sad, glad?” she pressed.

 

Thorin let his head fall back on the head rest. “What do you want from me, Dis?”

 

“I want you to articulate. Use your words.”

 

Thorin huffed. “No.”

 

“Why not?” She snapped. “I’m tired of your one word answers. I never know how you’re feeling… you don’t talk to me about anything.”

 

Her outburst took him by surprise and he looked on, confused, as she continued her speech.

 

“It’s worse than before, and we’re living together now! You shut yourself away in your room and I have to literally kick you out the door to get you to go out! And you don’t eat enough…” She seemed lost.  “I just want to help you. I thought you’d be ecstatic now that man’s in prison.”

 

Thorin searched for what to say to her. “It’s just-“

 

“Don’t you dare blame the depression. You’re on medication.”

 

Thorin was angry now. “I’m still depressed! It doesn’t matter _what_ they give me! It’s only supposed to stop the symptoms not magically cure me!”

 

They had stopped at a red light. Dis looked at him questioningly. “Then why are you still-“

 

His fury had burned out into hopelessness. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I feel that way I do.”

 

“…I think you need help.” Dis spoke with a gentle tone usually reserved for her sons. “More than just the pills.”

 

Thorin snorted. “Counselling? No thanks.”

 

Dis shook her head. “You need to do _something_ , Thorin, moping around the flat all day isn’t healthy. Why don’t you find another job? One that you don’t hate?”

 

Thorin had a degree in mathematics, but after graduating he found himself at a loss for what to do. All the traditional routes seemed to utterly bore him, so he thought maybe something more practical would suit him better.

Dwalin owned a garage, and fixed up old cars as a hobby. They’d both tinker there from time to time. He’d had a silly idea of buying a vintage bike with his savings and working on it. 

But, then there was Azog.

His boyfriend could never hold a job for long, he was too volatile, too unreliable, too...vile.  

And after a while he just stopped trying.

It allowed him more time for his drug and alcohol binges.

Thorin had to get a job in accounting just so that they didn’t end up homeless.

It was a small knot in the web of unpleasantness that had been their relationship.

 

“I… can’t, not at the moment.” Thorin finally forced out.

 

Dis was losing her patience with him. “You keep saying that, but you haven’t tried… I can only do so much for you Thorin.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I have the boys to think about.”

 

“I know.”

 

As they pulled up to the gates of his nephew’s school, Blue Mountain Primary, Thorin leaned in and delicately peppered his sister’s forehead with a kiss.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Dis let out a watery laugh, it sounded as if she was on the edge of crying. “You need to get better, I can,t have you apologising to me all the time.”

 

Thorin allowed himself to chuckle quietly, and they said nothing more until the bell rang and then children began to pour out of the school doors.


	5. Thunder

**V.**

_“Could a scar be like the rings of a tree, reopened with each emotional season?”_

_― Magenta Periwinkle, Cutting Class._

 

“Uncle, will you take us to the park?”

 

“Uncle, can you help me with my homework?”

 

“Uncle! Kili kicked me!”

 

“Uncle Thorin! Fee hit me!”

 

His nephew’s high pitched sequels, requests for his attention and bickering drowned out the sounds of the kitchen and reached Thorin’s ears as nothing less than a headache. 

He had not fully awoken, and stared blankly into space.

Why was he up again?

Normally on the week days he wouldn't wake until the boys were hurried off to school and Dis roused him with a cup of coffee and his meds.

It was the little things that mattered most.

Also, he got the feeling that she was making sure he didn’t forget, or just not bother, to take his fluoxetine.

 He hated, no _loathed_ , having to rely on pills just to go about his day without having an emotional episode of disastrous proportions. 

It was if he wasn't in control of his own life any more. 

 

Since Azog’s trial Dis had taken it upon herself to reform her brother into a productive member of society again.

Which somehow involved getting him up at an ungodly hour.

He groaned which caught the attention of Fili who paused in his eating of cornflakes.

 

“Are you sick, Uncle Thorin?”

 

“….mmpf.”

 

“I can’t hear you.”

 

“…eat your breakfast.”

 

Fili shrugged and continued munching.

Thorin heard the sound of Dis’ heels click on the wooden floor as she entered, Kili was attempting to climb on his uncle’s lap.

 

She sounded rushed.  “Dears? Have you got your lunch boxes?”

 

“Yes, Mum.”

 

“Have you brushed your teeth?

 

“I did. Kili didn’t.”

 

“Oh well, we don’t have time now. Kili, leave your uncle alone, It’s time to go now.”

 

Kili pouted, but jumped down from Thorin’s legs and gave him a little wave. “Bye, Uncle.”

 

“Bye, mischief.”

 

With a happy grin Kili hurried out of the kitchen and seemed to take Thorin’s joy with him. He heard the sound of the door being opened as the boys left, walking no doubt hand in hand as their mother always instructed.

Dis returned with Thorin’s suit jacket at arm’s length. “Kili got chocolate spread on your jacket.”

 

“...how?”

 

Dis sighed. “Safer not to ask. I’ll put in the washing machine before I go.”

 

“Thanks.” Thorin yawned, deciding whether or not he’d go out today.

 

“…What’s this?”

 

Thorin looked up to see Dis unfolding a piece of paper in her hand, no, not paper.

A card. The card Nori had given him. He’d forgotten all about it.

For no reason at all, Thorin panicked. “Why are you going through my pockets? You can’t-“

 

“Shush.” Her dark pupils swivelled back and forth as she read, ignoring his protests entirely.

 

He tried to take it from her grasp, but she elbowed him slyly in the ribs.

 

“ _Gladys_!” he growled, hoping the use of his sister’s full name would show her he was serious.

 

It did not. “Where did you get this?” she asked lightly, with a hint of danger.

 

Thorin scowled. “None of your business.”

 

“Hmm. It says the group meets every Friday… why, that’s today!” Her smile reminded Thorin of an alligator.

 

Lots of teeth.

 

“What a good idea! And look, it’s not until 6PM, so you’ve got plenty of time to get ready, and I’ll even let you drive the car. Just don’t crash it.”

 

Thorin firmly crossed his arms. “No.”

 

“And why not?”

 

“I’ll be the only man there.”

 

“It says men AND women welcome.”

 

“Still no.”

 

“Why _not?_ ”

 

Thorin rubbed his eyes. “Because it sounds terrible.”

 

Dis raised an eyebrow. “How do you know? It might be just you need.”

 

Thorin was adamant. “No, the _last_ thing I need is stuck in a room with a bunch of strangers talking about their _feelings_ , and be expected to talk about my _feelings_ and they’ll be hand holding, positive thinking and someone will bring a bloody _guitar_ along I just know it-”

 

\---

 

Thorin parked the car in the Rivendell community centre car park, thinking of all the worst ways he could get his revenge on his sister.

It would be served how all revenge should be.

Cold, and without contrition.

He slammed the door of the car harder than was necessary and stormed over to the double doors of the place.

He was already late.

After getting lost. Twice.

Dis needed to get a new sat nav.

Thorin was already worked up, and seeing his bad mood written all over him off him people deliberately moved out of his way and he made his way down the corridor to Room 2B.

Good.

On the door was a notice which confirmed he was in the right place.  

He quickly read it.

 

DOMESTIC VIOLENCE SUPPORT GROUP

PLEASE COME IN!

REFRESHMENTS PROVIDED.

Well, that was something.

He could do with a coffee about now.

Or maybe something stronger.

Thorin placed his hand flat on the wood and braced himself for the worst.

 _C’mon._ He told himself. _Just once, just once to get Dis out my hair and I’ll never come back again._

The door opened with an embarrassingly loud creek.

Thorin blanched as the whole congregation turned to stare at him.

They appeared to be all women. _I knew it._

His stomach fell to his knees and he wondered how bad it would look if he just left.

 

“Ah, please come in!” called a melodic voice from the group.

 

A very pretty lady with ribbons of curling blonde hair which trailed down to her waist smiled at him.

She looked like she belonged in a fairy tale.

Thorin couldn't understand how exactly, but she made him feel at ease.

 

“...I don’t want to interrupt.”

 

The woman beckoned him over. “Oh no, we were just getting started. It’s always nice to see a new face, please, help yourself to a drink if you would like.”

 

“No, thank you.”

 

Thorin could feel about fifteen pairs of eyes on him as he found himself a chair and took his place in the circle. He tried to look inconspicuous but it was a challenge.

 

The woman spoke again. “Okay, well, for those of you who are new here my name is Galadriel, and I’ve been running this support group for three years now.” She smiled kindly. “I’m also a fully trained psychiatrist, I originally specialized in women’s mental health, but I’ve broadened my horizons to include men as well.”

 

Thorin found himself listening intently to her.

 

“I was troubled by the amount of domestic violence, be it physical, emotional, or sexual abuse that I was seeing in my patients. You’d be surprised how many people will have abusive partner in their lifetime. Even if the abuse is not seen as ‘severe’, things like controlling behaviour, body shaming, and jealously are extremely common.” She frowned. “According to statistics, 31% of women and 18% of men had experienced some form of domestic abuse since the age of 16, which is unacceptable.”

A murmur of agreement passed through the group.

“Many people feel either too scared, or ashamed to tell someone that they are being hurt by their partner. They fear the repercussions or they think they have failed in some way. Well, I can tell you that the only that has failed you is your partner. No one has the right to bully, intimidate, or put you down in any shape or form, it is _not_ okay.”

Galadriel eased up on her seriousness. 

“This group is here to offer you moral support, we are free of judgement and by no means is attendance mandatory. We are very discreet and do not take any of your personal details expects phone numbers in case of emergency but even then, that’s your choice.” She delicately folded her hands in her lap. “We work on trust, and support each other through what can be a very emotional, difficult time.”

Thorin shifted, this was getting a little too touchy feely for his liking.

 

“Well, now that’s all said, why don’t we hear from our new comers?”

 

That’s just what Thorin thought she’d say, and began to sink into his seat. _Please don’t pick me. Please don’t pick me._  

 

“How about you, sir?”

 

She picked him. Just his luck.

 

“Why don’t you introduce yourself to start with?”

 

Thorin cleared his throat and sat up straight. “I’d rather not go first.”

 

Galadriel gave him an understanding look. “That’s fine, the first time is always the hardest. How about I come back to you?”

 

Thorin nodded.

 

“Alright. Who would like to go next?”

 

“Umm..” a young girl, eighteen maybe, with pale brown hair put up her hand tentatively. “I would.”

 

“Of course my dear, would you please introduce yourself and tell the group why you’re here?”

 

The girl steeled herself. “Right. Erm, Hello, my name is Sigrid Bargeman.”

 

“Hello Sigrid.” The group echoed.

 

“I’m eighteen years old and… I was abused by my boyfriend.”

 

Thorin’s mouth went dry. _She’s so young._

 

Galadriel nodded encouragingly. “Well done. Saying it out loud is very important, if you feel up to it, would you kindly tell us a bit more about your boyfriend?”

 

Sigrid bit her lip. “We’d been friends for a very long time, he went to the same high school as me. We met on the first day and since then we were always together. I didn’t begin to _like_ him in that way until we were both sixteen. It was just a silly crush really, but he told me he wanted to lose his virginity and asked me if I would sleep with him.” She looked down at her shoes. “I… I said I would. Just once. I liked him, and he liked me. So we… you know. It didn’t feel right at the time but I was afraid of losing him. My da found out and he was furious, he’s always been really protective, especially since my mum died when I was ten.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Galadriel said with kindness. 

 

“It’s okay.  Well, my da tried to convince me to break up with him, but I wouldn’t. I thought I loved him… but, he always wanted to have sex, and when I said no he got angry.”

 _I know how that feels._ Thorin thought.

 

“She said he’d tell everyone I was frigid unless I did what he wanted. I couldn’t understand why he being like this, we used to be best friends…” tears began to gather in the corner of Sigrid’s eyes and she quickly wiped them on her shirt sleeve. “Can… can I stop?”

 

Galadriel reached over and gave Sigrid a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Of course. You did very well, Sigrid.”

Thorin studied Sigrid. She was a brave little thing, opening up to a room full of strangers about something so personal, so awful.

It made Thorin feel like a coward. If she could do it, why not him?

He decided to take a chance and put up his hand boldly.

Galadriel saw him and looked pleased at his change of mind.

 

“Ah, sir, would you like to speak now?”

 

He nodded before taking in a breath and letting himself be as clear and loud as his courage would let him.

 

“Hello, my name is Thorin.”

 

“Hello, Thorin.” They all parroted.

 

“And I, I was-”

 

“Take your time.”

 

“I was… abused by my boyfriend.”

 

As he said the fatal words sudden flashes passed over his eyes, and he was transported back into his living room.

Azog was pushing onto the sofa with his obscene amount of strength and was tugging a Thorin’s belt with animalistic grunts.

_No. No I don’t want this._

But he couldn't talk, his voice strangled somehow and despite his writing and kicking Azog was too much, too strong, he wouldn't stop. Like a tidal wave.

A wet tongue trailed across Thorin's neck and teeth sank into his shoulder.  _Please stop. Please._

 

“Thorin?” Galadriel’s tones cut through his imaginings like a blade.

 

The horrid dream faded away as quickly as it had come, and Throin struggled to see straight. Everyone was staring at him.

 

“I have to go, I can’t, I can’t do this.”

 

He fled the room like a bat out of hell, ignoring any callings after him. Once out the door, Thorin found the nearest space of wall and pounded at it with his fists until they ached.

Wrung out, he let his forehead rest on the brick work and shut his eyes.

He willed himself to disappear off the face of the earth.

 

“Hey, are you alright?” asked a light, warm voice, like a cosy house on a winter’s day.

 

Thorin lifted his head from the wall to glance over his shoulder.

A man had approached him. Apparently from nowhere.

He was a least a head shorter than Thorin, with a button nose, with hair that was either naturally curly or simply uncombed, the colour was hard to tell in the light; it could be either wheaten, or a golden brown.

He looked to be in his mid thirties, probably. 

Oddly, he wore a deep red velvet waistcoat accompanied with a crisp white shirt. Sensible trousers and smart shoes. Far too well dressed for a meeting at a community centre. _He dresses like a teacher, or an old man._

He was plumb round the middle, and had a comfortable, approachable look about him.

But looks could be deceiving.

The man reached out to touch Thorin’s shoulder but Thorin wasn’t having it.

 

“Please don’t touch me.” He gritted out.

 

“Oh, okay.” The man awkwardly withdrew his hand and let it hand by his side.

 

They stood in the corridor for a strained few minutes while Thorin tried to compose himself.

 

The man hovered worriedly, not quite sure what to do. “Are you sure you’re alright? Can I…call someone for you?”

 

 _Who? Like my traitorous sister? No thanks._ “No. I’m fine.”

 

The man had a pleasant, bubbly chuckle. “You look it.”

 

Thorin was not in any sort of mood for this man’s humour.

The stranger seemed to sense that, and changed tactics. “These things are never easy, it’s only my second meeting, so I’m new at this to.” He said with a reassuring voice.

 

Thorin blinked. “You… were in the meeting? I thought I was the only man there.” _How did I miss you? Was I asleep?_

 

The man smiled brightly. “So did I!”

 

He tucked a loose stand of hair behind his ear. “I came in late. When that girl…” he wrinkled his nose in thought as he summoned up the girl’s name. “-Sigrid was talking? Gosh she’s young isn’t she? I got stuck in traffic, utter nightmare, and I didn’t want to interrupt her so I just…”

 

He stopped mid-babble and looked Thorin over, his features shifting to once again to concern.

His eyes might have been green, or even blue. They were large and rounded, with an expressive twinkle.

Thorin felt himself recoil from the attractive stranger’s attention.

 

“You look _really_ pale, maybe you should sit down.”

 

Thorin tried to politely wave him off. “You should go back in, you’ll miss it.”

 

The man seemed displeased with this suggestion. “Aren’t you coming?”

 

Thorin snorted. “I’d rather get my teeth pulled out.”

 

“It wasn’t that bad, honestly, we can go back in together if you’d like?”

 

In that moment, the stranger became a lightning rod for Thorin’s anger fuelled by his self-loathing and emotional upset. Although he had done nothing wrong apart from trying to coax Thorin back inside.

 

He saw red, and charged like a bull to it. “I’m not a child! I don’t need my hand held.”

 

The man looked taken aback. “I didn’t-“

 

Thorin couldn't stop. “Look, you don’t even _know_ me, so why do you care?”

 

The stranger looked rather bewildered at Thorin’s dramatic shift in mood.

 

“I don’t want your sympathy. Why don’t you do us both a favour and mind your own _business._ ”

 

Leaving the man gaping at his rudeness, Thorin made his exit down the corridor and heard behind him an affronted exclamation of “Well!” before he reached the double doors and burst out into the open, planning never to step foot in the place again.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet! and FINALLY BILBO! yes, he's in this too. LOL.


	6. Whirlwind

 

**VI**

_“But somewhere on the radio could you hear me? Could you heal me? Somewhere on the radio did you hear me?”_

**_Hurt, On The Radio._ **

****

Thorin’s mortifying experience at Rivendell soured his mood for man days after.

He was in such a slump that he didn’t take his pills.

Which was not the best idea he’d ever had.

If reality was like a cement block, then the medication was a piece of string tied to it which Thorin held in his fist to stop himself being swept away.

Without them, the string was cut, and he was blown around like a paper bag in the wind. Up, and down, up, then down again, and a painful crash when he hit the ground.

The only relief came was when Thorin slept.

At least he didn’t have to face sun.

He wanted to sleep forever and never embarrass himself, his sister, his family again.

His parents were dead, and good a thing it was. They’d be so ashamed.

This is how Dis found him, wallowing in a puddle of his own self-pity, curled up on the bed with his face hidden in the pillow.

 

“…I’m sending you on an errand.” She said, voice tight but patient. “Fili and Kili need school books, and I need to get some chores done. Get ready.” As she turned to leave, she added. “Oh, and take your _bloody_ pills or I swear I will strap you down and force feed them to you.”

 

She’d restrained herself for the sake of her sons’ ears.

Thorin didn’t want to go outside, but he didn’t want to stay where he was either.

Still, he could tell Dis was getting sick of him, and he’d rather not be around her when she was cross.

And if nothing else, Thorin could at _least_ manage to be a half decent human being and buy his only nephews some school books.

Painfully, he got out of bed and walked like a zombie to the bathroom.

 

\---

 

“Ugh. Can we go home now?”

 

Thorin was beginning to sound more and more like his nephews.

He was becoming a whiny child.

 

Fili frowned at him and tugged his hand. “No, Uncle! We haven’t been to the book shop yet!”

 

Thorin felt a vein pulsate in his head. “Of _course._ ”

 

The boys were quite literally dragging their Uncle around the city centre, for Thorin had not the energy to do well, anything really except escort them. 

Thorin hadn’t even bothered to shave (he found himself quite liking the beard), although Dis had insisted on a shower and even got his clothes out for him.

In his pre-medicated state he’d just thrown on what his sister had given him without thinking twice about.

Which is how he ended up wearing a shirt with unicorns on it. And rainbows.

Something Dwalin had gotten him as a joke.

By the time Kili had pointed it out, it was too late to go back and change. And possibly murder Dis.

Thorin’s favourite leather jacket had a broken zipper, so he couldn't hide it. This was not helping his rock bottom self-esteem at all.

He already felt like a miserable, hideous ogre, with or without Dis’ help.

Predictably their little ‘errand’ was taking twice as long as planned, as his nephews wanted to go to the sweet shop, then feed the pigeons, then Kili got lost and they spent fifteen minutes looking for him.

Then and only then did all three of them make it to the bookshop. _Finally._ _This torture is almost over._

Bag End Books was tucked away on a corner shaded by a large oak tree, with a bright green door of the old fashioned kind. The name of the shop was painted on the window in gold letters.

The shop had closed for a while when the original owners, a pleasant man and wife, had died in some terrible circumstance.

Thorin was half curious to see who owned it now.

 

Kili pulled on his sleeve. “Uncle! Look!”

 

He pressed his nose up to the glass and pointed at a book with a red dragon on its cover.

 

“We read that book in school! It’s the best! _I need_ it!”

 

Thorin gently pulled his nephew away. “You’ll stain the window.”

 

Kili squirmed out of his grip and ran into the shop, with his brother hot on his tail.

Thorin glumly followed, hoping to see no one he knew. 

Kili grabbed the storybook right from the display before Thorin could protest and was holding it aloft like King Arthur's sword.

 

He made his best puppy dog eyes. “Unnnnnncle, please?”

 

 Thorin tried to be firm. “We came here for school books.”

 

“But that’s boring!” Kili protested. “Pretty please?”

 

Thorin sighed. “Kili-”

 

“Can I help you?”

 

Thorin assumed that was the shop keeper, but the voice was awfully familiar somehow.

He turned and met a pair of cerulean eyes that been at the back of his mind for days. The colour drained from Thorin’s face and his shame reached new dizzy heights. 

It was the stranger from the community centre. God was punishing him. That was the only explanation.

 

“Oh.” Was all he could manage.

 

“Oh.” Came the reply.

 

“ _You?_ ” he sounded like an idiot.

 

“Umm, me?” The man chuckled uneasily. “Hello. Again.”

 

Thorin didn’t think it was possible to feel this awkward, he’d be very happy if he were to spontaneously combust right about now.

His nephew gave his arm a shake, reminding Thorin he was there.

 

“Kili, go find your brother.” He said sharply.

 

“But-” Kili protested.

 

“ _Now.”_ Thorin said, really meaning it.

 

Kili got the message and scampered off and disappeared among the bookshelves of the children’s section.

The man, puzzled, watch the boy go, then turned his attention unwillingly back to Thorin. He looked skittish, as if he was afraid that Thorin may pounce on him like a lion and its prey.

The stranger was less smartly dressed than before, wearing a worn looking jumper decorated with a diamond pattern in various shades of blue, white and grey. The sleeves were frayed and it was perhaps a size too big.

A token of sentimental value, who the previous owner was Thorin couldn’t have guessed.

His trousers were brown suede, as were his shoes but in a darker colour.

In contrast with it all was an endearing little necklace made of what looked like copper, a simple chain dangling to rest just below the collar bone with a charm shaped like an acorn made of cheerful amber.

 _He looks good._ Thorin’s brain conjured up the thought before he could stop himself. 

 

“So…” the stranger drawled, looking at his feet, which were a bit oversized for a man of his height 

 

“Yes.” Thorin blurted, struggling with his words.

 

The man tried for casual conversation. “Small world, or...town, rather. Hmm.”

 

There was no avoiding it. 

Thorin knew what he needed to do.

 

“I’m… sorry about the other night.” He started, trying in his way to sound sincere.

 

“Hmm? Oh! Its fine, I’d forgotten all about it.”

 

He hadn’t. It was clear the man was just being nice.

Not that Thorin deserved it.

 

Thorin went on, hoping he wasn’t digging himself into a hole. “All the same… I shouldn’t have been so rude, you were only trying to help. It was just-“

 

“One of those days?” The man offered, his lips crinkling with mirth at the edges.

 

“More like one of those weeks.” Thorin grumbled.

 

The man nodded, his curling hair falling into his eyes. “I’ve been there. My ex and I…” he drifted off, eyes clouding over with bad memories. “Well, we didn’t part on exactly cordial terms. So, I understand what the aftermath is like.”

 

Thorin nodded. _Tell me about it._

 

“What brings you to my shop?” the man asked, changing the subject.

 

“This is your shop?”

 

“No, I stole it.” The man quipped dryly. “Yes, it’s mine.”

 

He blue green eyes drifted downwards to Thorin’s chest, and he scratched his upper lip to disguise his amusement at Thorin’s fashion choice.

Thorin flushed. _Stupid unicorn shirt._

 

“Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins.” He offered no hand, but the introduction seemed friendly enough without it.

 

“Thorin.” he cleared his throat.  

 

“I’m buying books. Nephews.”

 

He gestured in the vague direction of Fili and Kili.

 

“Ah, I thought they might be your sons.” Bilbo caught a glimpse of the brothers darting merrily around the shop as young boys do. “Lively pair aren’t they?”

 

Thorin couldn’t suppress his groan. “You have _no_ idea.”

 

Bilbo let out a half laugh, dipping his head almost shyly away. “Forgive me for prying but… how did you find Galadriel’s group? we don't get many men there.”

 

“Deus ex machina?” Thorin suggested wryly, recalling his bizarre encounter with Nori.

 

His new acquaintance laughed whole heartedly at that, his adam’s apple bobbing in his pale throat and button nose scrunching up with his giggles.

It was infectious, and Thorin was just about smiling. _Can a grown man be adorable?_

 

“Hah, that sounds about right.” Bilbo kept his warm smile as he spoke.

  

“I had old friend of mine recommend it to me.” He titled his head in reflexion. “Very odd, actually, I hadn’t seen him since I left my ex. But he’d been invaluable to me, without him I don’t know whether I would have had the courage to leave.”

 

He waved his hand dismissively in the air.  

 

“Anyway, he rang me quite out of the blue and asked if he could visit, I said ‘yes of course!’ I wondered what he wanted of me, apart from my company. Well, when he finally appeared at my door we got to talking, he’d been working on a case – he’s a lawyer, one of the only nice ones, and he said that _this_ particular case had reminded him of me. What strange thing to say!”

 

Thorin’s curiosity got the better of him. “What case was it?”

 

“Nothing too glamorous I’m afraid. He’d put some thug in prison for attacking someone with a pint glass and dangerous driving. Oh, and apparently he’d been beating his boyfriend.”

 

He shook his head gravely.

 

“The poor man had to testify! Can you image anything worse? Having to face your abuser in court? Awful, simply awful. The defence ripped him to pieces so I’m told, but at least they got a guilty verdict.”

 

Throin didn’t have to imagine, because he’d _lived_ through it.

The room tilted and swirled like Thorin was on one of those horrible rides at the fair. _Stop. Stop. I want to get off. I’m going to be sick._

 

He licked at his lips, they were dry. “…Is your friend… called Gandalf Grey?” It was a pointless question. He already _knew._

 

Bilbo frowned in surprise. “Why yes! How did you-“

 

It took all of ten seconds for Bilbo to work it out.

He was a clever sort.

 

“Oh my _stars.”_ He gasped, wide eyed and red faced, bringing his hand up to his mouth. _“_ That was _you?”_

 

The look of shock, embarrassment and worst of all _pity_ made Thorin’s guts retch and his mind scream _get away, get away._

Thorin obeyed his instincts to flee. He couldn't, he just couldn't handle the pity.

 

“Fili, Kili, we’re leaving.”  

 

His nephews were at his side in a heartbeat, clutching their books to their chests, they’d been hiding behind a bookcase listening to the adults talking and could tell this was no time for joking around.

 

Bilbo tried in vain to atone for his grave misstep. “I’m so sorry I didn’t-”

 

Thorin took out his wallet and shoved a twenty pound note into Bilbo’s hand. “Money. Books. Keep the change.”

 

He seized his nephews’ wrists and marched out without looking back and pointedly ignored Bilbo’s cry of “Wait!” as the door slammed behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find Thorin's unicorn shirt here: http://www.amazon.com/Three-Wolf-Moon-Shirt-Parody/dp/B00FQL8Z9G  
> And Bilbo's necklace here: https://www.etsy.com/listing/162942334/amber-and-copper-acorn-necklace?ref=sr_gallery_1&ga_search_query=acorn+necklace&ga_ref=auto2&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery


	7. Hailstones

**VII.**

_“Don't judge yourself by what others did to you.”_

**_― C. Kennedy, Omorphi_ **

 

“Laddie, we really need to work on yer people skills.”

 

Dwalin’s deep bellied Scottish brogue was comforting and familiar after so long without it, and his company was equally as welcome.

Dis had asked him over as a matter of urgency, seeing that Thorin’s mood had not improved at all and was only heading downwards on a worrying spiral.

She didn’t exactly know what had happened on Thorin’s disastrous shopping trip, but she could see it had upset him.

That and Thorin had sworn never to go out in public again.

Dis and the boys had conveniently made themselves scarce, so that he and Dwalin were left in peace.

Thorin let his head rest on his friend’s shoulder, knowing the scot more than well enough for him to allow it and not to interpret anything other than platonic affection.

Dwalin had known Thorin was gay since they were sixteen.

And unlike many of Thorin’s peers and some family members, had not abandoned him. If anything, it made their bond stronger.

 

“Who has time for people nowadays?” Thorin asked the air glumly. “People are gits.”

 

“Ach, most people are alright.” Dwalin said. “Its mopy bastards like ye that are the problem.”

 

In protest, Thorin sat up and shifted to the other end of the sofa. “I am not  _mopy.”_

 

“I should call ye Mopy _Dick.”_ The scot snorted at his joke. “So much angst, like yer a feckin’ teenager. Without the eyeliner.”

 

Thorin threw a cushion at Dwalin’s head. “I never wore eyeliner. And at least I didn’t have a terrible Mohawk.”

 

Dwalin scowled as the pillow hit him. “I liked the Mohawk.”

 

Thorin stretched. “Yeah? Well you did have more hair then.”

 

“Feckin’ queer.”

 

Thorin grinned. “I’ve missed our chats.”

 

His friend rolls his eyes and rubs at his impressive beard. “We should go out and get hammered one of these nights.”

 

Thorin tucks his legs underneath him. “I can’t drink with my medication.” He mumbles.

 

Dwalin’s eyes widened. “Ye kiddin’ me.”

 

Thorin shook his head. _If only._

 

His friend looked at him with sympathy. “That’s rough. Depressed, and yer not even allowed the luxury of bein’ pissed.”

 

Thorin rested his feet on Dwalin’s lap. “Yeah.”

 

It certainly was a raw deal. Being drunk would at least give Thorin an excuse for ruining everything good that ever came his way.

 

Dwalin squeezed his knee in a companionable fashion. “What’s this you were tellin’ me about this bloke in the bookshop?”

 

Thorin let out a long suffering sigh, putting his hand over his eyes. “ _Don’t._ ”

 

Dwalin gave him a playful shove. “Ach c’mon, it can’t be as bad as that.”

 

“Worse.”

 

“What’s his name?”

 

Thorin shifted restlessly. “Bilbo.” _And he was lovely._

 

Dwalin raised an eyebrow. “No last name?” he grinned with mischief.

 

Thorin sulked “Leave it, Dwal.”

 

“What? Is he not queer?”

 

“Oh no he’s gay.” Thorin assured him gravely, he had a very good ‘sense’ for these things. “He wears waistcoats.”

 

“Ah.” Dwalin sat back, looking at Thorin levelly. “Is it because of _him?_ ”

 

The question hung in the air and made what had been a relaxed atmosphere, into one thick with terrible things. The nightmare that had been Thorin’s life was like a slowly fading mist not fully dispersed. It still collected around his feet and tainted everything he touched, like cigarette smoke.

 

 “You shouldn’t let him stop you from being happy.” Dwalin’s face darkened. “With any luck, he’s being buggered every which way in prison. See how he likes it.”

 

His old friend meant well, but the mention of Azog and… _that_ made Thorin feel queasy. Thorin couldn’t seem to be rid of him, like a shadow, Azog followed him. Oblivious to Thorin’s silent distress Dwalin took his phone out of his jacket and tapped on the screen.

 

“What’s the name of that laddie’s shop?”

 

“Baggins Book, why-”

 

Thorin put two and two together and realised that Dwalin was googling Bilbo like a creepy stalker, and immediately tried to grab the phone from him. Since when did Dwalin know how to use the internet on his phone anyway?

Holding the smaller man at arm’s length, Dwalin scrolled through his search results completely nonplussed.

 

“Ah! Lookit, he’s a website.”

 

“Dwalin!”

 

“Let’s see now…”

 

“Dwalin I swear to _god –”_

 

His friend wiggled his phone just out of Thorin’s reach. “I suppose you don’t want his phone number, hmm?”

 

“No, I _don’t_ ” Thorin growled under his breath.

 

Why would he? He’d sworn off men. A least for a while.

 

“Aye. Of course.” Dwalin nodded sarcastically. He got up with a grunt and cracked his knuckles. “I’m going for a piss.” He oh so innocently put his phone on the coffee table. “I’ll just leave this here then?”

 

Thorin flipped his friend off as he left.

 

“Fucking jock.”

 

“Arse bandit.”

 

After Dwalin was gone, Thorin’s reserve held out for all of two minutes before he cursed himself and seized the phone and while he knew he’d regret it; he punched in the number anyway.

 

It was written on the top of the webpage under CONTACT BAGGINS BOOKS:

_0208 887 2134_

 

He punched in the numbers as firmly as he could. Trying to keep his hand steady.

The phone rang, and rang away for a few tense seconds and Thorin half hoped it would go to voicemail, then he wouldn’t run the risk of embarrassing himself again.

He waited.

Thorin wasn’t sure why he wanted to impress this man he’d only just met.

He shouldn’t care what Bilbo thought.

Thorin barely knew him. _What am I doing?_

In that moment it occurred to him how ridiculous this whole thing was, and he felt foolish, but by the time Bilbo picked up it was too late to change his mind.

 

“Hello, Baggins Books, how can I help you?”

 

Thorin’s voice cracked as he opened his mouth and he was forced to cough to cover it. “Umm, Bilbo Baggins?”

 

“Yes, who’s calling?”

 

He didn’t recognise Thorin’s voice. Not a good sign.

 

“It’s Thorin, from the support group?”

 

It would be just his luck that Bilbo would forget about him and hang up the phone. But he didn’t.

 

“Thorin? Oh! Goodness me!” Bilbo’s voice peaked in surprise.  “I was not expecting you-”

 

Thorin’s confidence started to shrink. “Is this a bad time? I should-”

 

“No, no, no!” Bilbo’s begging insistence made Thorin stay on. “Don’t you dare! I’m not having you run away again!”

 

Thorin’s dignity puffed up like an angry cat. “I didn’t run away.”

 

“Okay. You fled from my sight. Is that better?” Bilbo suggested, radiating cheek at the other end of the line.

 

Thorin was too flustered to think of a retort, which made Bilbo think he’d offended him.

 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t- are you still there?”

 

“Yes.” Thorin answered, this conversation was not going how he’d hoped.

 

“Oh dear.” Bilbo was regretful. “I do seem to keep upsetting you don’t I?”

 

Thorin bristled. “I’m not upset.”

 

“No. You sound chipper as can be.”

 

“Are you always this witty?” Thorin asked, deadpan.

 

“Not when I’m asleep.”

 

A laugh escaped him, joyful and genuine. He could hear Bilbo laughing too.

They laughed together.

 

“So, how did you get my number?” Bilbo eventually enquired.

 

“Oh…” He rubbed his neck self-consciously, despite the fact that Bilbo couldn’t see him. “Your website.”

 

“Looked me up did you?” Bilbo asked with a hint of playfulness.

 

“No.” Thorin said, too quickly. “A friend…” he tried to explain. “He thought he was helping.”

 

“Well, I’m glad he did. I…”

 

A pause.

 

“I hoped you might get in touch. I was worried about you.” Bilbo gentle, sincere tones were beginning to lull Thorin into docility, like the music that soothes the wild beast.

 

Azog had done the same, with honeyed words and passionate love making. As soon as Thorin recognised it, the walls went up. “I’m fine.”

 

“ _Are_ you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He wasn’t.

 

He was forty, unemployed, depressed, and living with his sister, who he _loved_ but still…

 

“Are you sure? Because if you want to talk-” Bilbo was trying to real him back in.

 

“ _No._ Thank you.”

 

“Alright.” Bilbo was clearly disheartened by Thorin’s sudden distance. “Are you coming to the meeting this week?” 

 

There’s the rub.

Thorin would like very much to see Bilbo again, but just asking him for a drink or anything of that nature felt to… direct.

The last thing Thorin wanted was a relationship.

 

“I don’t think so.” He sighed.

 

“I think you should.” Bilbo pressed.

 

“Good for you.” Thorin snapped, annoyed.

 

His medication didn’t take his temper away completely.

 

“Well, aren’t you _blunt._ ” Bilbo retorted.

 

“My sister hates it.”

 

Bilbo laughed again then seemed to sigh “Okay, how about this…If you won’t go for yourself, would you come and keep me company? So I’m not the only man there?”

 

The man was a master at persuasion. If Thorin were to say out rightly no, he’d feel like he was abandoning Bilbo to his fate.

 

But if he said yes… “Thorin?”

 

Instead of committing to anything, he settled for a simple “…maybe.”

 

“Good!” Bilbo chirped. “I _might_ see you soon on Friday then?” there was a gentle hope to his voice. 

 

“Maybe.” Thorin repeated.

 

“Alright, maybe it is.” Bilbo clicked his tongue. “I’m late for dinner, so I’ll say good evening.”

 

Thorin was sorry to have Bilbo go. “Goodbye.”

 

“Bye, Thorin.”

 

Bilbo hung up and Thorin dropped the phone into his lap and stared at the wall, mulling over what exactly he was getting himself into.

 

“Feckin’ smooth. Princess.” Came a far too smug Scottish accent from the hallway.

 

Thorin jumped too feet in the air, fumbling with Dwalin’s phone. “You-”

 

“Aye?” Dwalin was not hiding his chuckles very well.

 

Thorin pointed a warning finger at him. “You better _not_ tell Dis.”

 

Dwalin held up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys ^^ I've got exams coming up so this will be my last update until next week. But don't worry! the next chapter will be up as soon as I can write it. x


	8. Firestorm

**VII.**

_“You kick a dog and some day it may bite you”_

_Bishop Waleran, Pillars of The Earth_

That night, when it was dark and quiet, a man could truly be alone with his own thoughts.

Dis and his nephews had long since gone to bed, and Thorin lay awake.

This was not unusual.

Sleep either alluded him, or he slept so soundly that he wouldn’t awake until midday.

But for some reason that Thorin could not, and would not ever understand, his mind tormented him with one terrible memory.

That is what was keeping him up this night.

It looped continuously like an old cassette tape, play, rewind, play, rewind again.

The day he’d first met Azog.

Once long forgotten, it now seemed so real, not blurred around the edges as memories are but organic and perfectly preserved although Thorin would have done anything to forget.

\---

It could have happened yesterday.

There had been nothing special about that Saturday, it was dry, cloudless and Thorin found himself bored with nothing particular to do, so he went for a drive on his bike; before long he ended up at Dwalin’s garage. It was almost as if some invisible magnetic force compelled him there.

He parked his bike in its usual place before causally strolling through the gates. Dwalin opened the place for a few hours on the weekends in the hopes of bringing in extra money; his success could be qualified on the amount of beer he drank on Sunday nights.

Thorin was expecting to find the scot either working away, or sitting around with a cup of tea and reading a copy of playboy as he was want to do during his breaks.

What he did find was quite _un_ expected.

His friend had company.

A customer, and Thorin could tell it was not a regular as he didn’t recognise the car.

It was 1995 Jaguar that might have been Black once, or even dark green, but now the paint was chipped and the body had several suspect looking battle scars. The rims didn’t match and one of the tail lights was cracked.

Thorin couldn’t imagine what stories this car had to tell, if only machines could speak.

Now, the question was, what kind of a person owns a vehicle like this?

Well, Thorin didn’t have to wonder, for the man himself was leaning against his wreck having a causal smoke. White rings were blown from his lips and flouted into the air.

Thorin could spot Dwalin’s massive shoulders partially obscured by the open bonnet of the car.

The man was scarred like his car, especially on the face. He’d had a good few fights in his time, and he’d won them all. Probably started most of them too.

His hair was shaven close to his head and his ears were pieced with silver studs.

The kind that make conservative parents faint.

The man was tall, taller than Thorin, and that was something; as Thorin was a respectable 6ft 2 and Dwalin was 6ft 3.

The thick muscles of his arms were visible as his shirt was sleeveless, and they were decorated with thick, ebony tattoos that snaked down to his wrists.

When Thorin approached, the man regarded him the way one days a stray cat that’s wondered into their garden.

Thorin offered him a similar curtesy, and deliberately ignored him.

Dwalin, who was busying inspecting the car, didn’t see or hear Thorin’s arrival.

“I’m tellin’ ye pal, its junk-” he was saying in a resolute tone.

 

“I can fit a new engine, but ye only looking at a few more miles before it gives up for good.”

 

The man cursed colourfully, and flicked his cigarette to the ground. It landed near Thorin’s boot, and rather than let it smoke he put it out with his toe glaring at the nerve of the man.

The man seemed indifferent, perhaps amused by Thorin’s indignant look.

 

“How much?” he asked Dwalin.

 

“Two thousand five hundred.”

 

“Fuck.” The man ground his teeth. “For that money I could but a whole new car.”

 

Dwalin shrugged. “Your choice. But I’d scrap it I were you.” He finally noticed Thorin watching them and beckoned him over. “Thorin, what’s up?”

 

“Nothin’ much.” Thorin replied.

 

“Your bike okay?”

 

“Yeah. Runs like a dream now, just needed a bit of TLC.”

 

“What bike you got?” asked the man, no, the _brute_ , his voice breathy from years of smoking.

 

Thorin was caught by surprise at the man’s first attempt to talk with him, but immediately composed himself as he sensed a hidden danger within a seemingly innocent question.

 

“Honda 83’, CB-650.” He said coolly.

 

The brute smiled toothily, it had sharkish quality that made Thorin feel like a tuna about to be eaten. “Nice.” He said appreciatively. “I had a ride like that back in the day, course’, I was a young man back then.”

 

 

He chuckled low in his throat. “Christ, I’m old as balls.”

 

Thorin studied him. “You don’t look that old.”

 

“Older than you, pet.” He answered with a look that could only be described as a leer.

 

Thorin kept his face neutral, not recoiling or showing his disgust at the man’s ogling although he would have happily blackened his to check his cheek.

 

“Looks can be deceiving.”

 

The brute tilted his head, Thorin’s confidence striking him as a challenge. He was clearly used to getting a rise out someone without trying too hard.

 

“True.”

 

Dwalin shut the car bonnet with a slam that cut their conversation short. Thorin was slightly disappointed that he wouldn’t get to lock horns with this… person today.

 

“I can fit the engine by next Monday if ye still interested.” Dwalin offered.

 

The brute scoffed. “Why bother? Might as well torch it. Piece of shit.”

 

Dwalin gave no comment.

With a last curse, he unlocked the car and climbed in, the engine groaned in protest and spluttered as the brute pulled away. Ugly, loud music poured out from the speakers, and rattled the windows for miles around.

As the wreck went to exit the yard, the brute’s rough voice could just be heard over the sound of a base.

 

“See you around, _pet._ ”

 

 _In your dreams._ Thorin thought.

His tires screeched and before the dust cleared he was gone, leaving Thorin staring at his tracks in the dirt.

Despite himself, Thorin felt… not quite unnerved, maybe unsettled, a little unsure with a terrible prediction that, knowing his luck; he would indeed run into the strange tattooed stranger again.

Dwalin had come to his side, he was cleaning a screwdriver with a rag.

 

“You alright?”

 

Thorin blinked and shoved his hand into his pockets. “Fine, you wanna grab a pint?”

 

Dwalin grinned. “When don’t I?”

 

By that night, Thorin had quite forgotten about the man in the old car.

Of course, his determination to drink his weight in the tequila shots was a more pressing concern.

The bar was as busy as it could be without endangering life or limb to his patrons, and the clamours of laugher, out of tune singing and the occasional bout of sobbing was deafening.

Thorin was alone, as he often was, and that was a problem.

Unlike drinking with Dwalin or his sister, the object of the game was not to enjoy a drink with good company but instead to toss himself over the line of the legal alcohol limit and pick up whoever was bold to approach him (apparently he was intimidating to some people).

It normally left him sore and with the grandmother of all hangovers, but he had to release his sexual frustration somehow.

Dis didn’t approve, after all, he was no longer a reckless adolescent, it was time to start be an adult and do adult things. Like getting a steady partner and settle down.

 

“I don’t want you getting sick.” She had said.

 

Not likely.

He was always careful. No protection, no penetration. Although he wasn’t sure how that applied to blow jobs.

Thorin had neither the time nor the inclination for such things as a committed relationship, and was more than happy to carry on as he was.

Not lonely at all.

His head was buzzing pleasantly with the booze in his system, but it also made him ungodly hot. Beads of sweat trickled from his forehead which he moped with the back of his head. He was only wearing a thin shirt and jeans, but the heat made him want to strip right there.

Give everyone in the Prancing Pony a show (whoever named this bar should be shot, in Thorin’s opinion.)

He opted for a simple breath of fresh air, just for a while. He downed what was left of his drink and pushed his way through the crowd and towards the back door.

The cool air hitting his face was everything he dreamed of, and he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief; his breath letting out a curling wisp of air as it hit the cold.  

It seemed to do a great deal in sobering him up, and after a minute or too, the chill was no longer pleasant and Thorin rubbed his arms to smooth over the goose bumps on his skin.

_Why do I even bother? I hate places like this._

He checked his watch.

12:45

In drinking time, it was still early, and Thorin had yet to attract any interest for his weekly scheduled one night stand. 

But once, and only once, he decided to leave the bar early.

He started a brisk walk down the alley to where he’d parked his bike, trying to remember whether he was drunk enough to drive… or not drive, whichever one it was.

Thorin wondered whether he should call Dis.

Although, she’d probably make him sleep on the doorstep for waking her up this late.

No, not an option.

 _I’ll be fine._ Thorin assured himself as the street swayed to the left under his feet. _I’ve been drunker._

When he reached his bike, he grasped at the handles keep himself balanced and it took a few clumsy attempts for him to finally get in the saddle, as it were.

But, as he dug around in bike’s top box for his body armour a voiced purred at him from the shadows.

 

“Hello, Pet.”

 

It was quiet, so soft that Thorin could have imagined it.

He hadn’t.

 

“Told ya I’d see you around, didn’t I?”

 

Thorin swivelled in his seat to catch sight of a figure leaning on a nearby lamp post. The light was faulty and flickered in an out, illuminating the man then hiding him again.

Even drunk, Thorin recognised _that_ condescending smile.

 

“What do you want?” he huffed, mulling over in his mind the chances of this encounter.

 

“Can’t a man have a smoke?” The brute took a long drag, blowing his smoke in Thorin’s general direction. “I didn’t catch your name before.”

 

He considered not telling the brute his name, but the alcohol made his tongue loose. “Thorin.”

 

“That’s pretty, I’m Azog.” He chuckled. “Didn’t make you out for a poof.”  

 

Thorin wasn’t sure what to make of that comment, he’d been called worse before; by his classmates, louts, and slighted ex-girlfriends. It sounded more like a passive observation than an insult.

Well, anyone who saw Thorin walking out of a gay bar at nearly one in the morning was free to make their own conclusions.

 

“Yeah well, you can never tell these days.” Thorin countered with disdain.

 

“Suppose not.” His blue eyes shone all the more brightly because he’d succeeded in rattling Thorin. “You know what I think?”

 

Thorin suited himself to ignore Azog’s bile that was his sordid way of flirting for now and just concentrate on going home. Where were his damn keys?

 

 “I think you like the rough stuff, don’t you?” Azog fancied himself an amateur sleuth, able to read people from fifty paces. “That mate of yours, is he any good?”

 

No one insulted Dwalin like that. “You shut your mouth!”

 

“Oh, pardon me.” Azog feigned repentance.

 

If Thorin was sober, he would have made Azog pay for that comment, but he’d rather not go home with bruises _and_ a hangover. “Why don’t you get lost?”

 

“I like it here” Azog sang, eyeing Thorin with lust. “The views nice.”

 

The gall of it was laughable. “You haven’t snowflake’s chance in _hell._ ” Thorin spat.

 

Azog slinked forward, narrowing his eyes like a predator. “Don’t I, pet?”

 

“Don’t call me that.”

 

Azog seemed to double in size, he leaned imposingly over the handle bars of Thorin’s bike. His breath was wet and warm. “Why don’t you shut me up? Go on.”

 

Thorin met his eye with his barely contained temper. “Get off my bike.”

 

“Make me.”

 

Thorin’s aim was impaired by the drink, and he missed Azog’s face and his fist spun into the open air.

A grip closed around his throat and forced his face upwards to receive the most forceful kiss of his life. It wasn’t a kiss really, more a smashing of lips, tongues and teeth.

Still, however unpleasant, Thorin became aware of need pooling in his lower regions and no doubt so did Azog.

This was insane.

 

“Fuck…” he panted as he was half dragged from his bike and set against the lamppost, the metal ringing as his back connected with it. Azog was strong and he lifted Thorin up to get better access to his belt. Instinctively he wrapped his legs around Azog’s waist.

 

Once.

Only once.

Just to see what it was like. And who would know?

 

As he ground his hips against Thorin’s manhood he whispered huskily into his ear. “I’m gonna ruin you.”

Truer words.

\---

Thorin wasn’t aware he’d slept at all until he woke from his dream with a twitch and a fast beating heart.

The street had disappeared, as had Azog, to be pushed back into his subconscious until his next nightmare.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this took a while. Again guys, thank you for your support and feedback, I have to take anouther leave of absence due to exams but by next week Tuesday the next chapter should be up x


	9. Quicksand

**VIII.**

_“Pulling her sleeves past the black and blue, Once these bruises fade they'll come back anew.” - Black and Blue, J.D_

 

Thorin drove in a daze to Galadriel’s meeting, a feeling of trepidation curling up in his stomach and settling there uncomfortably; like a dragon on a hoard of gold. 

The thought of Bilbo being there, with his easy smile and brightness only comforted him some. He’d still have to face the judgemental eyes of a room full of strangers.

Thorin had never liked being the centre of attention, even as a child. “Terribly Shy” so he was called by his teachers and relatives.

Dis had always called him an "anti social git."

The hallway towards the door of room 2B seemed to stretch further and further away as Thorin walked towards it. By the time he reached it, his palms were sleek with sweat.

At this he wasn’t late this time

Stepping into the room, he could see the table spread with coffee and other beverages but obviously no alcohol. Shame.

A few people had arrived already and were mingling amongst themselves, Thorin searched for Bilbo, but could not see him.

_He’ll be here in a minute, he said he’d come._

“Ah! Thorin.” The small crowd parted for Galadriel as she came over to welcome Thorin personally. “I’m so pleased you decided to come back this week.” Her warm greeting soothed Thorin’s unease but not entirely. 

“Yes…” he shifted from one foot to the other. “I apologise if I…”

Galadriel gently placed her hand on his arm. “Please. I should be apologizing to you. I shouldn’t have pushed you to talk, you weren’t ready.”

“I volunteered.”

She gave his arm a squeeze. “It’s my responsibility to look after everyone in this group, and to identify when someone isn’t comfortable. I hope you can trust me to do that.”

Thorin gingerly placed his hand over hers. “Thank you.”

“Would you like a drink?” Galadriel offered.

“Thanks.” Thorin moved to pour himself a cup of coffee. Black, no milk, but _tons_ of sugar. 

“Galadriel!” Sang a voice from the door.

Galadriel glided over to Bilbo as he arrived and embraced him. “Bilbo. Lovely to see you.”

This time around, Bilbo had adorned a deep green waistcoat with delicate gold embedded leaves accompanied by brown trousers and a cream coloured button down.

He always made Thorin feel underdressed in his various combinations of T-shirts, jeans and his faithful leather jacket.

He was never really fashion concious, much to Dis' dismay. "I thought gay men were supposed to know how to dress well. 

He had thrown a shoe at her. Playfully of course. "That's a blatant stereotype." 

“Quite a turnout this week.” Bilbo chirped to Galadriel, having not noticed Thorin yet.

“Yes, Ori has been very enthusiastic with handing out our flyers. Drink?”

“Ta every so.” Bilbo went to the table and just then spotted Thorin and grinned broadly. “Thorin!”

Thorin gave Bilbo an awkward little wave as he came over.  “I was hoping you’d come.”

“Well, you were very persuasive.” Thorin said.

Bilbo snorted good naturedly. “A family trait I’m afraid. Get it from my mother, god rest her soul.” Bilbo’s eyes washed over with memory for a moment before he returned to his perky self. “Did you nephews like the book?”

“Book?” Thorin asked, lost.

“The one you bought in my shop? Or was that your twin brother?”

Thorin blinked. “Oh, yes they loved it.”

“I’m glad, got a little nephew myself- well, I say nephew, he’s my cousin, but he’s always called me Uncle.” Bilbo patted down the pockets of his waistcoat. “I’ve got a picture somewhere- Ah!” He produced a messily folded photograph from his wallet and held it out to Thorin. “There’s my Frodo.”

Thorin was never one to coo at babies, in real life or just pictures. He didn’t like it when parents tried to hand him their children to hold, even when his nephews were tots; he was too afraid he’d break them by accident.

But, he had to admit, It was a very sweet picture. The little boy was four, maybe five, with baby blue eyes that would make even the proudest mother envious and his head was haloed by a mess of curling ebony hair. He was smiling into the camera, showing off his latest lost tooth, holding it between his fingers and pointing to the space in his gums were it used to be.

Thorin smiled and handed back the picture. “He looks like you.”

“He’ll grow up to be very handsome then.” Bilbo quipped, and Thorin couldn’t help but laugh.

Before they could settle into a conversation, Galadriel clapped to summon everyone’s attention. “All right everyone, let’s all grab a chair-“

\---

Thorin sat quietly and listened to each person speak in turn. A twisted sort of pattern began to emerge: violent drunken husbands, boyfriends who beat, girlfriends who claw, scratch and bite, fathers and mothers who treat their children like crash test dummies that cry.

And through it all, ran the undercurrent of fear and shame that choked you like sulphuric gas.

Thorin was reminded of the old metaphor: People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. Well, if all the houses were glass, then at least you could see what went on inside.

Eventually, it was Bilbo’s turn.

 

“Hello, my name is Bilbo, and I was abused by my Boyfriend.”

 

“Hi, Bilbo.”

 

“How are feeling this week Bilbo?” asked Galadriel crossing her legs.

 

Bilbo sniffed, his nose twitching like a rabbit’s. “Better, I’m less paranoid than I used to be. Running my parents'  shop helps take my mind off things.” He rubbed his arms self-consciously. “Its irrational I know, but in the beginning I was so afraid that he’d just… turn up one day, my ex, I’ve stopped double checking the locks on my doors and windows but whenever the phone rings… I think it might be him.”

 

Thorin could sympathise. Sometimes, late at night, he’d sit at his window and wait for Azog’s scrap heap of a car to pull up. Wait for his peace to be shattered.

Galadriel nodded, considering what Bilbo had said. “How long has it been since you and your boyfriend separated?”

 

“Five months and three days. I counted them.” He admitted.

 

Galadriel gave him a comforting smile. “Well, it’s very important that you feel safe in your own home. If these rituals help with that, as long as they don’t become compulsions, I’d say they’re an acceptable short term solution.”

 

Galadriel’s eyes half closed, and Thorin could see the gears turning in her head.

 

“But in the long term… it’s important to understand why you feel this way, why you think your ex is going to come back.”

 

She waited politely for Bilbo to continue.

 

“He was very controlling, everything had to be just so. He hated it when I tried to assert myself, or do something without his permission.”

 

Bilbo spoke with clarity and confidence that came from a place of determined inner strength.

 

“The first time he hit me was in the heat of an argument. I was shocked and a bit scared but he apologised and swore he’d never do it again. That was a lie. The next time he said it was my fault, that I’d made him angry so I deserved it, and I believed him. He was also very careful not to hit my face, or arms, anywhere that would show… and, he made me think that no one would help me, they’d think I was lying, and if I did tell he’d make my life a misery. Then after a year of this he left me.”

 

 ** _He_** _left you?_ Thorin couldn’t imagine what self-entitled, narcissistic, scumbag would put a gentle soul like Bilbo through hell and back and then would have the sheer audacity to toss him out like a newspaper that the dog's pissed on. Azog seemed to almost pale in comparison.

 

“He just packed his things one morning and said that he’d had enough… I was too clingy, terrible in bed, too fat. Yeah, he said that.” Bilbo’s laugh was brittle. “I’m not sure exactly why he walked out. I think maybe he lost interest because I was too well trained, I didn’t fight back any more. A dog won’t chase a cat unless it runs.”

 

You could hear a penny drop in room 2B.

 

“I was so… dependent on him, yes, I had absolutely no idea what to do with myself when he’d gone. It was awful… then it was wonderful. A good friend of mine suggested a therapist, and I’ve been going there for a few months but he suggested that some group based therapy might help me even more. Meet people in the same boat as me. I guess… I think it’s just too good to be true.” He leaned back in his chair thoughtfully, indicating his piece had come to an end.

 

Galadriel let Bilbo’s words hang in the air for a little while, letting the group absorb them.

 

“We all deserve to be happy and to be able to express ourselves without fear of punishment. No one has the right to take your freedom from you, or threaten you in anyway. No one can own you. Let’s all remember that.”

 

Nods and murmurs spread through the group.

“Thank you for sharing Bilbo. Okay, who would like to go next?”

 

\---

 

Once the meeting was over, Bilbo approached him. “What was that so bad?”

 

“You were very brave.” Thorin said earnestly. He was in quiet awe of the man.  

 

Bilbo waved his hand nonchalantly. “It’s nothing, I’ve talked about my ex often enough in therapy, once more won’t make a difference.”

 

A slightly muffled tune of The Imperial March rang from Bilbo’s back pocket which interrupted their conversation.

Bilbo flushed with embarrassment and took out his ringing phone. “Sorry.” He glanced at the screen and his face fell “Oh…”

 

“Is something wrong?

 

“Nope. Just the usual.” With a grumble Bilbo put the phone to his ear and spoke with a dry, tired voice. “Lobelia.”

 

Thorin could hear a shrill, female voice squawking loudly through the phone at an impressive speed. Bilbo was having trouble getting a word in edgeways.

 

“Yes it went fine I-” he frowned. “Well of course you can’t but-” More talking. “Are you _serious?_ ” A vein was beginning to show itself on Bilbo’s forehead and he grit his teeth. “That’s just _dandy_ isn’t it? How exactly I am-” he dragged his hand across his face. “Fine. _Fine_. Jolly good. Thank you very _much_.”

 

Bilbo glared at his phone, as if willing it to melt in his hand. “It looks like I’m taking the bus home, or walking.”

 

“Who was that?”

 

Bilbo’s face was still tinted red from building frustration. “My _darling_ Cousin Lobelia, who just _completely_ forgot to mention that she’s at a dinner party tonight at her in-laws, and of _course_ she can’t leave early, that would be rude, so that leaves me without a lift.”

 

“Don’t you drive?” Thorin asked.

 

“Can, but no car. I didn’t bring enough money for a cab, but I don’t mind walking.”

 

Thorin looked out of room 2B’s window, an opaque, starless night was a foot accompanied by the soft pitter-patter of rain beginning to fall. It was only half seven, but still he couldn’t in good conscience let Bilbo walk home alone.

 

He licked his lips. “Where do you live?”

 

“Up in the Shire, near Acorn lane.” Bilbo answered. “My house is a bit secluded really, but at least it peaceful. No wanted visitors, if you get my meaning.”

 

Thorin ran his fingers through his beard. _Take a chance._ “I could…” he started. “I have a car, my sister’s. Outside.”

 

Bilbo’s cerulean eyes widened to tennis ball size. “Are you… offering me a ride home?”

 

“Yes?”

 

Bilbo seemed disbelieving. “You would do that? Really?”

 

“…Yes.”

 

“I….” Bilbo came over all flustered. “Well, I- I, not that I’m not grateful but we don’t really know each other. I could serial killer for all you know, could have buried my ex under the floor boards, or something.”

 

The joke clumsily missed its mark but Thorin decided to humour him.

 

“I trust you.” he said. “Besides, my sister keeps pepper spray in the glove compartment.”

Bilbo giggled, more at ease. “Ooh, I better not try anything then.” He shuffled his oversized feet in a shy manner. “Okay, tall dark and mysterious, shall we go?”

It was Thorin’s turn to become flustered, he pulled up the collar of his jacket to disguise his red face and distracted Bilbo by politely opening the door for him. 

They hurried to the car to escape the rain, and Bilbo gave Thorin his address.

After a couple of failed attempts to punch Bilbo’s postcode into the uncooperative Sat Nav and with Thorin’s visibly blood coming to boil as he wrestled with the gadget Bilbo finally coughed lightly and said “I think I’d better just direct you. Might be easier.”

 

Grumbling and vowing to toss the wretched Sat Nav out of the window at soon as they reached speed, Thorin pulled out of the car park and in the direction of Bilbo’s house.

They sat in slightly tense silence as the drove, before Thorin spoke first “D’you live alone?” which sounded a lot less creepy in his head.

 

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at him.

 

Thorin floundered. “If…your house...is a bit isolated and you don’t feel safe…”

 

“Oh! I’m not completely on my own. There’s Beorn.”

 

“Beorn?” _I knew it!_ _He’s taken. Of course he is._

 

“My dog.” Bilbo clarified.

 

“Ah.” Thorin said, feeling rather foolish.

 

“Gandalf’s idea, said I should get a guard dog. I seem to remember my ex having not liking animals, although I don’t remember telling Gandalf that.” Bilbo chuckled. “Funny old wizard. Just turn left here.”

 

“He’s an old friend of yours?”

 

“Of my mothers. Take the next right. He’s always sort been there, on the fridges, looking out for me.” Bilbo’s hands curled into loose fists where they rested on his knees. “He was there when my parents died.”

 

Thorin felt tension rising in the car. “How did they-?”

 

“Car accident.” Bilbo blinked to clear the wetness from the corners of his eyes.

 

“They took a drive, it was raining.”

 

A heavy quiet extended between them, and the sound of the rain hitting the windows became almost deafening in the silence.

When Thorin’s words returned to him, he could only think to say “My parents are gone as well.”

 

Bilbo looked to him with quiet curiosity.

 

“My mum died after my sister was born and my dad…” Thorin kept his voice as steady as he could manage. “He got Alzheimer’s in late forties, and had to be put in a care home a couple years later. He had heart attack.”

 

 _A merciful end._ His father had faded like autumn fades into winter. Each day he would lose a bit of himself to the void, becoming more and more lost in his own head. Near the end, he didn’t even recognise his own children.

They carried on for another few minutes, passing Fili and Kili’s school.

 

“Let’s talk about something else.”  Bilbo suggested, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “What do you do? Job wise?”

 

Thorin welcomed the change of subject. “I used to be an accountant.”

 

“Used to be?” Bilbo asked.

 

“I left my job after I left my partner.”

 

Following Bilbo’s signals the houses and cars soon disappeared to be replaced with more open space, a rural area with fields and hedgerows. In the dark, the shapes of various animals, cows, sheep and such were either sleeping or grazing.  

There were no street lamps, so the dark was intense.

 

“Why?”

 

Thorin’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, staring straight ahead.

 

“I’d rather not say”

 

Bilbo’s nose twitched, a nervous tick he possessed. “Sorry, I’m being a nosy little so and so.”

 

“Are we headed to right way?” Thorin asked, not used to this area and really hoping not to get lost.

 

“Yep. Just follow the road, my house is the next- WATCH OUT!”

 

The headlights illuminated the furry shape of a sheep in the middle of the road. Thorin swerved to avoid it, the tires screeching in the wet and sending them spinning away.

He hit the break, his head connected sharply with the steering wheel and everything was fuzzy around the edges.  Rain must have dripped in somewhere because a wet… something dripped down Thorin’s head.

Ears ringing, he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't I awful? XD don't worry no one dies in this story. They just get really big boo boos. 
> 
> Last update for a while, exams. Ugh.

**Author's Note:**

> If you are suffering from or have suffered from abuse at the hands of a partner or family member, then I highly recommend these blogs:  
> http://www.violenceunsilenced.com/  
> http://www.getdomesticviolencehelp.com/domestic-violence-stories-visitors.html 
> 
> Please Stay safe people x.


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